Chapter Text
> May 5, 2717; somewhere on Earth
The first thing that comes to me is the feeling of fear. But somehow it’s not mine and I push it away.
Then comes the smell. Overwhelmingly sweet, rich, reminiscent of warm summer evenings. Night‑scented stock.
Something is chirping constantly, high‑pitched sounds tickling my ears. They’re coming from the ground level, like insects in the grass I’m currently laying on.
Why is it so dark here?
The anxiety is back, this time with a tiny, spooked voice.
“Brought back wrong? Have fix… How fix?”
I realise my eyes are still closed. So I open them.
It’s… well, not exactly bright, but enough to see, thanks to whatever celestial object is shining in the sky. Little greenish lights are dancing near me, unbothered by my presence. Fireflies. It takes me a while to notice that one of them… is it looking at me?
“Can see me? Hear me?"
Now, as it floats closer, I can see it’s not one of the bugs, but some kind of a drone with a glowing centre. A flood of feelings embraces me again, from fear through hope to joy, a sting of pride beneath, and all of them not mine. Maybe except the fear. Am I going mad?
I try to move, just to discover that my body is entangled in vines. I struggle to get myself free. It takes a while. Any longer and I might start getting irritated, but strings finally let go and I’m able to sit up.
“Not hear me?"
“I can hear you."
I almost don’t recognise my own voice, it sounds like something heavy dragged across gravel.
The drone beeps, somehow cheerfully, and I feel it in my ribcage.
“What are you?”, I ask carefully. “Are those feelings… yours?”
Saying this out loud seems even weirder.
“Yes!” It spins around. “Your Ghost. Brought back. My Guardian. Anything hurt? Will fix!”
“Whoa, slow down, mate.”
I attempt to stand up. Not the easiest task right now, with swaying vision and shaky legs, but I manage with the help of a stable vertical surface under my palms. It appears to be a part of a ship, a wing probably. I look around to find the rest of the machine. There are pieces scattered on the ground, some large and some small. The main body is mostly intact, crushed rather than shattered, but the windscreen is missing. It won’t fly anywhere.
The Ghost noticed what I’m looking at. It comes closer to the jet.
“Yours”, it says.
My palms move to my chest by instinct, I do a quick check‑up, even though I know I’m perfectly fine. An armour covers my body. It’s almost weightless, made mostly of leather, with some metallic pieces. It has tears and dents here and there; I’m sure it’s far from being ideal protection, but it’s still something.
“Am I… Was I dead?”
My new companion moves up and down in confirmation.
“Brought back!”
I approach the ship, take a peek inside. There’s a bit of living space behind the cockpit, a few tiny lockers and a bunk. I step in with confidence – it’s mine after all – hands finding interior lights right away. It’s a surprise they’re working. Dimmed and flickering, but it’s enough.
The drone… the Ghost, whatever it is, looks miserable while illuminated. Its metallic cover has smudges of dirt on it, scratches all over, there’s even a crack, I think. I gently reach out to it and it allows me to touch it, its happiness filling my veins once more.
“Your name. Remember?”, it asks while I try my best to clean it. “Fine if don’t.”
“Shyril Maas”, slips out before I can think of it. The Ghost makes a high pitched, thrilled noise. “Is your name Ghost?”
“Designation. Me Ghost. You Guardian. Awoken.”
I have no idea what that means.
“So what do I call you?”
“You name me. I’m a he.”
I don’t feel like he’s rushing me in this matter and I’m grateful for that. Picking a random name or word seems wrong.
When he’s as clean as I can manage, I start digging through things. I find backup armour; it’s in a slightly better shape than the one I’m wearing, so I decide to swap them. My skin underneath is light blue, a memory of a pale sky flashes through my mind. A piece of a broken mirror on the ship’s inner sheathing reflects my cobalt eyes. They’re glowing.
“I told. Awoken.”
Why does he sound like my appearance could bother me? I think I’m missing some contexts here.
“Can you tell me? Everything you know.”
He talks. What he can’t provide with words, he shows using scraps of logs and recordings he gathered during his journeys, giving me a rapid history course. How my people were supposed to be born and live in isolation for centuries. How they had gotten back and how a lot of them died within the rings of Saturn not so long ago. Ghost’s tale wanders, goes about what the Risen are, Lords and Guardians, their great battles. About the young Hero of the Taken War.
There are not many usable things left in the wreckage. A few tools. A plain notebook with a thick cover, a small box filled with wooden pencils. A jamming sidearm that could be useful after cleaning, a still perfectly working handgun, three well‑sealed packs of ammo, and a sharp knife. I’m about to leave when a hunch stops me. I reach under the pilot’s seat, my fingers hit a clip and I’m able to take out something wrapped in thick fabric. My hands shake a bit, the Ghost hovers over my shoulder, curious.
It’s a crow. Most would think it’s dead, yet for me one glance is enough to tell it’s not a real creature, but a man‑made device. I have a feeling it’s important, so I tuck it away safely in the backpack I found laying on the ground.
When I’m ready, a sun is about to come up. Or is it the Sun?
“Are we on Earth?”
“Yes, Earth. Tower, should go.”
“Then lead the way, my Light. And talk to me a little more.”
Listening to my Ghost’s excited, fragmented phrases I feel my lips forming into a smile.